


drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart

by Trojie



Series: Howl [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Demon Dean Winchester, Hell, M/M, Rough Sex, Sam On Demon Blood, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Season/Series 10, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 15:39:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2552801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They take Hell back, but not the way you'd think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart

**Author's Note:**

> Title, yet again, from 'Howl' by Florence + The Machine.

They take Hell back, but not the way you'd think. They _burn_ the throne. 

'And all you sorry fucks,' Dean's saying, stomping back and forth in front of the masses of black-eyed brethren, looking unsure of themselves in their suits and pencil skirts and all the trappings of bureaucracy that Crowley seemed to think made them more evil than the leather and the fire and the knives. 'You sorry fucks who've been bowing and scraping and chasing your own tails all these years - you're free. You wanna kill? Kill.' He gestures at himself and Sam with the First Blade. 'We will be. You wanna eat babies? Eat goddamn babies. Get up there and make deals and tempt priests and despoil virgins - we don't care. Hell's been shut for years, while your weasel of a fucking king tried to play diplomat. Hell isn't about diplomacy! Hell isn't even about war - Hell is about _chaos_.'

Sam's sitting sprawled back on the dais in front of the burning throne, enjoying the warmth at his back and the spectacle in front of him and the knowledge that Dean knows he's watching. 

'My brother and me, we don't wanna spend our time checking up on you. We don't give a shit what you do, up there or down here - we're not ruling. But if we hear tell that one of you's trying to put that throne back together again, or if you come after _us_ , well. You better believe we'll put you down. Sammy?'

Sam lifts a hand lazily, twists his wrist, and pulls the black smoke out of the lungs of the ten closest demons. He lets them choke on it for a bit, then lets them settle back into their bodies. They rasp, wheeze - and then he does it again, except this time he grabs a handful of every single demon in the place and _yanks_.

'You know what my brother is,' Dean says to the retching, seething, doubled-over mob in front of him. 'Fuck, you know what I am, too. You know we don't make promises we can't keep.'

Sam lets go, and the maelstrom of black above him trickles back into the crush of meat suits. 

'Now _get,'_ Dean snaps, and in an instant, they're alone. 

Dean's manner changes from fight to fuck immediately - Sam can see the way his spine loosens, his posture turns lithe instead of rigid, and Sam smiles as his brother turns around to face him. 'Goddamn, Sammy,' Dean says. 'Does it for me every time, seeing you use those damn powers.'

Sam leans back on his elbows, widens the space between his thighs, gives Dean the most inviting look he knows. 'Couldn't do it without you,' he points out, licking his lips. It's true, too - the shit Sam can do now, with Dean's blood in him, it's way beyond the little-league stuff he could do before. 

Dean's eyes are so dark Sam can't tell if it's his demon side coming out to play or if he's just that turned on. Either way, it promises good things for the rest of the night. 'Damn shame we set that thing on fire,' Dean says, shrugging at the smouldering wreck of Crowley's throne. 'Should've fucked you on it in front of them. You'd'a liked that, huh Sam?'

Yeah. Sam would have. Sam's dick is chubbing up already just thinking about it, but then Dean's voice usually has that effect on him anyway. 

'Could've sat down and pulled my cock out, made you ride me. God. Feel you pull all those demons while I was in you, feel how powerful you are, squeezed tight around me, would've been so good -' it's like Dean's feeling a phantom orgasm already, stepping in to stand between Sam's spread knees and looking down at him like he wants to devour him. '- or I could've put you on the throne, you're the one they used to believe in, their fucking Boy King or whatever. I should've put you on the throne where you belong, stripped you bare and made them fucking worship you on their knees while I sucked your cock -'

Sam pushes himself to his feet and catches Dean by the hips, pulls Dean close so he can feel just how hard Sam is, just from him talking. 'Yeah, well, we did burn it,' Sam points out, grinding them together. 'And I'm glad we did.'

Dean smiles like a wolf. 'Even if it means we can't fuck on it? C'mon, Sammy, you eat shit like that for breakfast. It's all symbolic, or whatever. You can't tell me you don't wanna make a mess of this place.'

'Oh, I do,' says Sam. 'And we're gonna.' He reaches out and yanks at the far wall, over Dean's shoulder, and brings the masonry down with barely a thought, blocks as big as cars bouncing across the floor, opening up the already open space. He stops them before they can get close enough to be a danger, and then pulls again with his power at the next wall. He walks forward and Dean walks with him, backwards with his hands still on Sam's hips, light on his feet as a dancer or maybe … no, it's him being in sync with Sam, this is the way Dean would move with him around a pool table, hustling, bouncing off each other as they felt out which way their mark would move, what would make him crumble, what would make him bet the farm and let them take him for everything in his wallet. 

Crowley's institutional walls fall. Sam drags them down. And when he has a pile of rubble, stretching up into the torch-lit blackness (Sam doesn't know how big Hell is, or if it has an outside, or if it's just an endless labyrinth of bad lighting and overdone dungeon-themed props), he sits down on a big slab of stone, the size of a bed even if it isn't exactly at the perfect flat angle, opens his legs and leans back, showing himself off. 'Made you a mess,' he says, smiling innocently, knowing he's dimpling up and knowing Dean's kinda powerless in the face of that. 'Come fuck me on it.'

Dean makes a tiny, hungry noise. Sam licks his lips and lets his gaze trail down Dean's hard body to his fly, already pushing out from his cock thickening behind it. Dean's so predictable. 

'If you aren't out of those clothes by the time I get down there,' Dean says warningly, First Blade hanging ugly in his hand, and Sam laughs. Dimples, man. They're still a fucking weapon, even if Sam's closer to thirty-five than fifteen these days, and they work way better on Dean than the Blade works on Sam.

He smooths a hand down his thigh. 'What? You gonna make me _hurt?'_ he says dismissively. 'With that little pigsticker? C'mon.' He pulls his shirts off over his head, throws them aside, but he leaves his jeans on. 'Maybe I want you to make me -'

Dean blinks and Sam's jeans get ripped off in a millisecond. He steps up on the masonry, pulling his own dick out, and grabs Sam by the back of the head. 'Fine,' he says. 'Mouthy little shit, you can fucking _choke_ on it.' He smears the wet tip of his cock across Sam's lips, then when Sam opens up, eager for a proper taste, he feeds himself in slow and hard til Sam's panting for air. 'That's it,' Dean murmurs. 'Get it wet, baby boy. Bad little bitches who don't do what they're told have to do all the work.' He caresses Sam's jaw softly, thumbing over the bulge in his cheek, the harsh rhythm of his carotid pulse, which makes Sam's heart rate go up just by itself. 

The taste of Dean is metallic and hot and like iron and sweat, and Sam couldn't stop his mouth watering if he tried, it's too good having his brother heavy on his tongue like this. His own dick is twitching, ready for whatever Dean wants to do to him. Here like this, Sam's along for whatever twisted ride his brother wants to take. He mouths at Dean, drenching him in spit, stroking his tongue as delicately as he can along the underside, savouring it, the velvet weight. He pulls back a little so that he can wrap his lips just around the head, lick into the slit, then slide back down and feel Dean's stomach muscles jump against his forehead while he tries and mostly fails to breathe. 

But too soon for Sam's liking Dean's drawing back, as slow as he pushed in, stringing it out and leaving smears of precome on Sam's sore, wet lower lip. Sam opens back up despite the soreness of his jaw, tries to get more, but Dean's made up his mind. 'Are you gonna do what you're told now?' Dean growls. 

Sam scrabbles to roll over, present himself the way he knows Dean wants, on his knees and elbows like he wants to get bred, and with his hearing centred on his own rasping breaths and his sight obscured by his own sweat-straggly hair, he realises they're not alone - he can _smell_ demon, rich corruption that makes his belly growl in fake hunger, and when he looks up, there are eyes gleaming in the darkness. They have an audience. Sam shudders in anticipation, and pushes his hips up, suddenly desperate to have Dean in him. He arches his spine, takes his weight on his flat forearms and puddles his chest down to the cold stone slab, feeling hot and wanton in his own skin, ready to fuck, ready to destroy. Ready to kill, and if those demons come any closer - they're welcome to watch, from a safe distance, but Sam's desire right now is a red hot burning mess in his head and Dean was right earlier - the feeling of dragging demons out of their meatsuits while Dean keeps him full, fucks him deep and right like he needs, would be incredible. 

Sam spreads his knees wider. 'Get in me,' he growls. 'Dean. Now.'

Dean smacks him hard across the ass, but he kneels and starts pulling at Sam like he's trying to split him in half, gorgeous thick fingers sloppy-wet with spit, making space for himself. Just when Sam thinks he's about to go crazy from how bad he wants it, Dean pushes in. 

'Oh, oh fuck, yes,' Sam says, the words punched out of him. Dean's shoving in, waiting, pulling back a little and then pushing again harder, see-sawing his way in, and every breath that leaves Sam's throat has a moan riding on it. 'Dean, _Dean_ , fucking please, just -'

'S'it hurt, Sammy?' Dean asks in his sex-ruined voice, and he's pitching it like he wants Sam to protest but deep down, Sam knows his brother would stop if he told him to. Sam could _make_ him stop, and they both know it, but he wouldn't have to. Even now, even being … whatever it is they are … Dean would still stop if Sam told him to. 

Good thing for both of them that Sam doesn't want to. 

'Nnnngh, yeah,' Sam moans through the broken glass of his throat. 'Harder, Dean.' Out of the corner of his eye he sees their audience creeping closer, the shine of their eyes picking them out like deer, and if he only had a shotgun …

Dean's bottomed out now, locked into Sam like a puzzle piece or a reset break. 'Hard enough for you yet?' he asks, thrusting, thrusting, changing his angle until he catches Sam's insides just right, makes Sam tear his fingers up clawing at the unforgiving stone underneath his hands. 'Like this, baby brother? You like this? Like me all up in you like this, close as we can be?'

'Always,' Sam gasps, so ready to come, Dean pounding him like he's breaking a concrete wall with a sledgehammer, Sam's dick drooling and jerking between his legs and not getting touched, and Sam is savagely glad about that because he loves the way it wrecks him, coming on Dean's cock, uncontrolled and uncontained. But their fucking audience is too fucking close - they've gone from being titillating to being a rusty saw against Sam's nerves, against the blood-thirst that wants _Dean_ but will take whatever it can get. 

'We got spectators, Sammy,' says Dean a second later, into Sam's ear, still jackhammering away, and it's not his fault, he doesn't have Sam's very particular talent in the area of demon-detection even if he is one. 

'Yeah, I know,' Sam growls, and he pushes himself up on one hand so he can use the other to grab them. Thirteen stupid, useless, crawling maggots in power suits and grey paisley - demons drunk on debauchery and too bone-dumb to not stay away from a predator like Sam - and he grabs them by the smoke of their throat. 

They choke, for a moment. They'd struggle, but they can't - Sam's got them and they're powerless against him. They've got nowhere to go, and that's exactly where they're going - Sam crushes them, wild with the lust of Dean's sweat against his skin and Dean's dick in his ass and the pounding sound of Dean's pulse around him. They scream like fury for a split second and then he feels them crumble to nothing in his power, and that's when he comes, comes harder than Dean's fucking him, orgasm like exorcism, unstoppable and elemental. 

He might black out. He's not sure, it's dark, and he's warm and sore and so satisfied, and he hasn't slept in six months, so how would he know what it's like any more?

Dean's cock is pulsing slow, lazy, and wet in his ass, still in place and Dean's moving slowly and softly, pushing his half-hard way in and out of Sam's fucked-loose body. 'Mmmm,' says Sam thickly, flailing behind himself to catch Dean's shoulder and pull him close for a kiss. 'Keep doing that much longer and we can have round two right here, hotshot.'

'I wanna build a fucking shrine to you,' says Dean, biting Sam's lip, licking away the pain. 'I wanna build a shrine to you and I'll fuck you on it every damn day, and we'll draw those sons of bitches like moths, Sammy. Moths to a goddamn flame, and you can get rid of them that way.'

'I like the sound of that,' says Sam with a laugh, clenching around Dean just because he can. 'When do we start?'

Dean gets a grip on Sam's hips, and flips him over. He bites at Sam's throat. 'Right. Now.'

**Author's Note:**

> I am a bad person and I regret NOTHING. Mwahahaha.


End file.
